An exact copy of my life is being lived a million light years away
- Eric Gamalinda, from Poem Not Written in Catalan
I am always chasing after the memory of a man long gone. Twenty years ago, he had climbed a Wall, had brought home an autumn leaf, and had told me how he wanted to step inside a forbidden city. I am always chasing. I found the city he loved, crowded and mysterious and smelling of summer. It is not yet autumn, and I am still chasing. My breath comes in short puffs as I hold on to ancient stones that snake through mountains, hills. I cannot remember the sound of his voice. I am forever chasing after him. I have not arrived.
